War Wounds
by Sassy SOBettes
Summary: A Battlefield Healer for the Light Side finds a wounded man and takes him under her wing. But just what side is Warrington on? And will this act result in wounds that even Fallon cannot heal? SOBsaga!
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES:**

This is what happened when I had a plot bunny about a SOB-saga. ::dies:: Scary, hmm? Yes. Thalia has started another SOBfic. And a _chaptered_, _long_ one, at that... Oh boy, oh boy...

**DEDICATIONS:**

            This fic _can't_ be dedicated to just one person. Not when all my SOBettes are awesome; the best (and _hottest_) group of girlfriends on the planet! Rock on, and keep SOBbing, darlings!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            The girls belong to us. And it shall be made _quite_ apparent that if you sue and thus piss them off... well, it will be very bad for you.

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            "Sodding Merlin, someone should bloody _slap_ that raving wanker and put him in his place!"

            Two women sat in a Spartan but oddly professional-looking tent. The older of the two, a deceptively docile-looking woman of about twenty-three with an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty in her flowing mahogany locks and brilliant blue eyes, gave her companion a dubious glance.

            "Fallon, as much as I share your sentiments, I don't think that it's _quite_ feasible as of this time to slap the Dark Lord."

            The younger woman scowled somewhat, and reached up a hand to brush back a wisp of dark hair behind her ear. Her head was bent over a cauldron, and her forehead was damp from the heat. "I know... but you must admit, it's a very appealing idea, Akasha."

            "I suppose so..." Akasha said thoughtfully, "He _is_ evil and all... But what brought on this new wave of resentment towards him?"

            Fallon sighed, "Another C patient."

            "Ah." There was no need for explanations. On the battlefields and in the tents, terms were made deliberately ambiguous, but also very concise. A _C_ patient was someone who had been hit with the Cruciatus curse, and for someone like Fallon, battlefield healer, dealing with such a patient was nothing but trouble and trauma.

            Akasha's voice softened slightly, "Who was it? How bad was it?"

            Fallon gave a shrug, "No more so than the other two I'd dealt with today before him."

            "You know, I'm glad that I'm an Interrogator, not a Healer."

            "Ah well... to each her own," Fallon said as she stirred the contents of her cauldron. "And don't worry about me. I'm just tired."

            "I can see..." Akasha reached over and gave her friend a brief pat on the shoulder, "Well… we all do what we have to do, hmm?"

            "Yes… yes." Fallon knew this. She added a sprinkling of white powder to the potion, and took the cauldron off the fire. "All right. It's ready." She bottled up the potion in a number of small vials, and handed them to Akasha. "Truth potion… just for you."

            "Thanks, Fallon," Akasha accepted the vials, and charmed them to fit into the small purse she carried, "Well, I had better get going. Good bye, and good luck."

*          *          *

            The unmistakable cry and clash of curses broke Fallon out of her reverie. Head snapping up, eyes wide, she threw on the plain but functional dragonhide vest that lay on her cot and dashed out of her tent.

            It was already over by the time she got to the scene.

            Not that this was anything _too_ unusual. There had been wards set up all over the place, for the sake of safety. And she could not Apparate. A good thing… because this way, neither could they.

            Three bodies lay on the ground. Instinctually, Fallon steered clear of the one that was still glowing faintly green. _Avada Kedavra_. The person was dead. And whoever it was, the face was covered with a white mask. 

            Voldemort just lost a minion.

            A good thing, and yet not. There would be retaliation. And she would have more patients.

            She sighed and walked over towards another still form. Dead, too… not with the Killing Curse, but with a dagger imbedded in his chest. The ground underneath him was starting to dampen, to redden. An Auror, from his robes. Fallon did not know who it was.

            She was too late to save either of them… and she sighed. 

            And there was a third, lying a little distance off from the others. And this one, Fallon could not place.

            He wore neither the robes of an Auror, nor the robes of a Death Eater. 

            Was he a civilian?

            If he was… what in the _world_ was he doing here, on the battlefield? Was he crazy? Was _she_ crazy and just imagining this?

            Fallon knelt down cautiously by the side of the man, and brushed a careful hand along the side of his neck. All right… so there were no head injuries. Slowly and gingerly, she moved his head so that he was facing up, and then, she saw who it was. _Cassius Warrington?!_

            A former classmate, a year above her, same house. She had no idea of his whereabouts after he had left school, but then… they hadn't exactly been friends.

            She had not known him well, and though she certainly recognized him, there was no guarantee that he would recognize her as well. That is, if he were ever to wake up.

            For he was alive. But barely.

            Fallon paused, and looked uneasily at his still, tall form. He had been hit by a curse… or several. And at the moment, she had no idea which ones. Quickly, she strode over towards the dead bodies of the Auror and the Death Eater close by, and, after a quick pat-down of both, came up with both their wands.

            "_Priori Incantatem!"_ she called, holding her own wand over one, then the other. Dark, arching brows furrowed over slanted dark eyes as misty forms emitted from the wands.

            _Adoleo_. A curse of fire. _Suppuro_. A festering wound. _Converbero_. Bruising and battering. Oh, God…

            He was alive, but barely. And not out of danger. He would be in danger for a long, long time.

            Without a word, she stuck the wands of the fallen into a pocket of her robes, and ran back to the fallen man. With a whispered "_Wingardium Leviosa_", he was afloat in front of her, and speedily, she took him out of the bloodstained battlefield.

*          *          *

            She set him down on an empty cot. His face was flushed, the _Adoleo_ curse heating his skin, embellishing the slightly tanned surface with sickly beautiful rosettes of coral red. He would burn with fever for at least two more nights, but that was not the most serious of her concerns. She had to find out where the _Suppuro_ curse had impacted, and how serious it had been.

            Silently, she took out a small, sharp knife, and cut away a section of his robe. No… not on his arms anywhere. Almost involuntarily, she looked at his forearms.

            They were bare and free of blemishes and markings.

            All right, so he was not a Death Eater.

            Of course, this wasn't a complete reassurance that he was "safe"… 

            Sod that… she was a Healer. Whatever he was, whatever he did… she needed to find that wound…

            Painstakingly, she continued cutting away at his robe, revealing more flushed, heated skin. Still no wound. 

            She had cut away almost a third of his robe before she found it. An ugly, weeping, discolored sore the size of her fist, the flesh loose and glistening with infection on his left side. She winced, and the grimace on her face only grew when loose threads of his robe stuck to the ooze of the wound when she pulled the fabric away. 

            Her face solemn, Fallon turned the unconscious man onto his side, so that the festering wound was facing upward, and not contacting anything. Keeping Cassius Warrington in the same position that she'd put him in with an immobilizing spell, she went to fetch a set of healing potions.

            Soaking a white linen handkerchief in a pale brown healing draught, she dabbed at his wound, the handkerchief becoming sodden with bloody ooze, and the wound becoming slightly less poisonous-looking.

            He had been hit with the curse at fairly close range. 

            She would have to keep the wound clean and doused with potion every several hours. Only then, would the healing potion be able to seep down through the layers of flesh and repair the internal damage that it had done.

            It would take at least a month for him to heal.

            And of course, there was also the fact that due to his feverish, weakened body from the fire curse, he would need to be protected from disease and infection from the wound. And then, there were the bruises.

            He would be stuck here for a good few months.

            As Fallon placed a handkerchief soaked in a cooling draught on his forehead, after brushing the shock of dark hair out of his eyes, she gave a slight shrug.

            At least… here, she could keep an eye on him. And while he was indisposed, he would not be a danger to anyone in any way. No matter what side he really was on. Everyone would be safe from him.

            She had no idea how mistaken she was.

~*~ End Chapter One ~*~

Tell me what you think! There will be more in the near future!


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTES:**

Chapter two. With more info on the war effort. And stuff. Yeah.

**DEDICATION:**

To my SOBettes! Who _rule!_

**DISCLAIMER:**

            If you want him, come and claim him!

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            He did not wake for the whole rest of the day, though he tossed and turned restlessly from the fever.

            And Fallon would have to sit next to him; he had that wound, and too much movement was not at all good. But he would be in too much discomfort if she put him permanently under a _Stasis_ spell.

            So, she had to sit next to him. Make sure that nothing got on the wound as he moved. She soaked another linen handkerchief in the healing potion, and held it over the sore, keeping her hand there over the festering lesion as he shifted.

            Every two hours, she would immobilize him with a spell, and for the five minutes that he was still, she would anoint his bruises and clean his wound, before wiping down his feverish, muscular torso with cooling potions.

            Her store of potions was running low, and her arm, from being held constantly over his body, was sore. She would need to make a new batch of potion soon, and hopefully get some rest.

            Finally, at about one o'clock in the morning, he stilled the restless movements, and lay on his side, fast asleep. In the dim light of the candle she lit, Fallon carefully covered his side, and the oozing sore, with a poultice made of the last of the healing potion, and immobilized him.

            Sitting back, glancing at him every now and then, she brewed another batch of healing potions.

            The exhausted Healer cut up the tiny witch hazel buds and the thick, pulpy, liquid-filled aloe leaves, methodically mixing it in her cauldron, adding in unicorn hair and phoenix tears, carefully measuring out volatile bloodroot extract and adding the scarlet fluid into the potion.

            As she bottled up her newly brewed potion in glass vials, Fallon yawned. It was now two in the morning, and she had been at his side since noon.

            She was worn-out and hungry.

            Stepping into the next room of the charmed tent for a few moments, she returned with a plateful of cold ham and bread, and ate a small meal. Now... all she wanted to do was to sleep. But there was a patient to take care of. And he was still in danger.

            Fallon returned to her chair by the cot, tiredly firing a cushioning charm on the stiff chair back. All right… she would hit the bed with a charm that would prevent him from leaving it, and keep the poultice on the wound with another charm. And she would just doze for a little while here in her chair.

            After all, if he were to wake up and need something, he could certainly wake her.

            These thoughts in mind, she put another cool cloth on his forehead, brushing the dark hair out of the way, and sat down on her chair. She fell asleep within seconds.

*          *          *

            _Pain… Death Eater… Spell… Spy… Guilt Blood Innocence Light Dark… "Obedience is not an expectation; it is the law…"_

            _Dead Scream Pain Crack Spells_…

            _Fire Burn Pain Pain Rot Pain Punch Bruise Batter Pain Pain… Cool… Cool?_

            _Dark… Dark…_

            _It was dark, and there was a sterile sort of fragrance hanging in the air… a fragrance devoid of sensuality… pure but too bittersweet to be innocent… and it was cool and hot and pain and soothing at the same time_…

            _Darkness_… 

            _Light…_

            _There was pain, but there was something odd and the pain wasn't complete and the burning was there but it was being cooled and…_

            _Heaven… Hell… and somewhere in between was where he was… or was he?_

            _Where was he?_

            It was dark and there was pain, so he must be in hell… and for what he was and what he did, hell was right…

            But there was…

            Who?

            His eyelids felt like they were being weighed down with red-hot weights, and when finally he opened them, his vision was dulled, like viewing the unfamiliar surreal world through a layer of smoky chiffon…

            And in the obscurity of the world there was a spot of light, a tiny, luminous glow of fuzzy pale gold… candle… and the shimmer settled on something dark yet not… and it was…

            A shape hazy and shadowy in the weak light… willow-slim and steel-strong and crouched and… cool and…

            His eyes were not cooperating and his brain was swimming in a blurry ocean of confusion and he… did… not… know…

            There was something cool on his head but there was pain on his side like something was being eaten away by poisonous rot… and he was hot and bothered…

            And there was a shape crouched…

            Indistinct… like the crescent moon on a foggy night…

            Beautiful…

            But how could he know?

            His feverish brain struggled to make sense of it… where he was… the contradictory feelings and surroundings and the scent of bitter-sweetness clinging to the air benevolent almost and yet…

            And there was her…

            He knew it was a 'her', and though she was blurry and enshrouded in the mist of fever, he knew that she was beautiful…but whom and what and how…

            Dark and bright and peace and soothe… and yet fire and dark…

            And who?

            Was he in heaven?

            Wasn't he in hell?

            And his head hurt and the red-hot weights on his eyes were insistently pulling them down and everything spun and wavered like disturbed reflections in water in a whirlpool and the naiad by his side wavered and she was… no… he…

            She was still… and he knew somehow that she was there but she was shrouding herself as his eyes fell closed once more and his headache went away as his mind cleared…

            Who cared if he was in heaven or hell?

            He was not alone… and there was she who would always be with him and… rest…

*          *          *

            When Fallon awoke the next morning, she opened her eyes and immediately went to take a look at her patient.

            He was still asleep, with a strange, sort-of-smile on his face.

            Odd… peaceful. But… very odd…

            What was he smiling about?

            Shaking her head slightly, Fallon undid the spells that held him in place on the bed, and removed the poultice from his wound, inspecting the sore.

            It was still festering; the flesh sodden with potions and with the infection, his body gradually expelling the poisons inside. But the skin around it was starting to turn a normal color.

            Putting one hand on his forehead, she noticed that he was still somewhat feverish. But the skin was no longer the garish, ghastly red shade that it had been the day before. The blooming rosettes were fading, and there were small beads of sweat on his brow, and the tip of his nose.

            Carefully dipping the handkerchief in cool water, she wiped his face slowly.

            He would be handsome, perhaps, if he weren't so ill.

            She had not known him well when they were in school; he and the Quidditch team, she and her group of friends... they moved in different circles.

            His eyes were closed, and his face was somewhat relaxed except for the flush of fever on his cheeks and the accompanying shallow breaths.

            At that moment, she heard the sound of footsteps outside her tent, and stood up abruptly. Quickly putting a temporary immobilizing spell back on her patient, she stepped out of the tent, wand drawn. She had not expected any visitors.

            But Fallon's face relaxed when she saw who it was. A young woman, her age, dressed in plain and unnoticeable black robes, purely for function and not decoration. And yet, with the woman's striking figure and confident gait, the effect was that the plain robes simply drew more attention to her beauty by contrast. She tossed back a mane of luxuriant hair the color of maple sugar and gave Fallon a grin.

            "Hello there, Kate."

            "Good morning, Fallon," Kate Le Fay greeted her friend, "You look rather tired..."

            "I am," Fallon said candidly, "Had to stay up with a patient 'til quite late... he's better now, though. How are things going with you and..." Fallon trailed off. Kate's work was quite aptly described by her title. Unspeakable.

            Kate gave a sober look to the other woman, "There is... news... that You-Know-Who is missing a spy. Supposedly, the spy has not proven him or herself yet, but had sworn fealty to one of the High Death Eaters... whether this spy is... loose somewhere... or has gone into hiding... we have no idea yet."

            Fallon gave Kate a startled look, "Any idea who it is?"

            Kate shook her head, "So far, no leads... I'm sure that things will be looked into, though."

            Fallon nodded slowly, "Well... I don't know. Odd... I will be sure to keep an eye out for strange things. I have made sure to keep my patients in... this way, if any of them know anything, perhaps I can find out."

            Kate gave a noise of agreement, "Good plan. I have to go to work now... I just wanted to give you a heads-up."

            "Thank you... and you take care of yourself," Fallon answered.

            "You take care of yourself... and your patients," Kate said, "Farewell."

            The Unspeakable Disapparated, and Fallon went back to her tent.

            Hmm... perhaps Cassius Warrington might know something about it. She would see about that... once he woke up.

~*~ End Chapter Two ~*~

And so ends the second installment of my wartime SOBsaga. Review, my darlings...


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTES:**

We meet an Auror! And Draco Malfoy, ferret extraordinaire, makes an appearance! 

**DEDICATION:**

ALL MY SOBETTES!! You girls rule the universe!

**DISCLAIMER:**

Figure it out yourself, yo.

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            It was a typical day in Knockturn Alley, and in a dark, grubby little pub known as the Shifty Niffler, two large, blockish young men were sitting and drinking together, talking amongst themselves.

            The door to the pub opened, and a young woman, looking startlingly out of place and yet completely in her element, sauntered in. Her jade-green eyes swept over the leering, interested faces of the men in the pub, an expression of hauteur on her even, striking features, and she tossed back a mane of jet-black hair as she walked right up to the bar, sitting down dauntlessly next to one of the two troll-like men and ordering a cold Butterbeer with sherry. 

            She was dressed impeccably in form-fitting black satin robes, laced fashionably at the bodice with silver cords, but for all that, she looked like a woman of action. When the bartender handed her the drink, she lazily waved her wand over the shiny black dragonhide handbag at her side, and exactly two sickles and ten knuts came out, and landed in the bartender's outstretched hand. The price of the drink, and a decent tip. She gave the bartender a curt nod, and sipped her drink in silence.

            It was about a minute before the man who was sitting next to her noticed her. Gregory Goyle cocked his square head at her for a moment, and then a glint entered his piggish eyes and a leer appeared on his face. The woman noticed all of this out of the corner of her eye, but paid no heed, continuing to daintily sip her drink, casually flicking a lock of hair out of her face.

            "Hello there… what's your name?"

            The woman deliberately turned to look at Goyle, and quirked an eyebrow, "Ravyn."

            Goyle grinned rather stupidly, "A bird… a name of a bird, for a bird… I like!"

            Ravyn rolled her eyes very slightly, and acknowledged the rather backward compliment with a curt nod of her head, turning back to her drink and ignoring him. Goyle scratched his head stupidly, then leered again.

            "Want to join us, have some fun?"

            "Depends on what kind of fun, wouldn't you say?" Ravyn shot back, raising one eyebrow as she calmly folded her hands in her lap, looking at the two thickset men.

            "We just talking… but we can try to think up something more interesting, can't we, Crabbe?" Goyle addressed the other man. Crabbe nodded enthusiastically.

            "Oh, don't mind me… carry on with your conversation, by all means," Ravyn said sweetly, "I'll be perfectly fine right here."

            The two nodded stupidly, and both leered at the young woman before doing just as she said, and going back to their drinks and conversation.

            The woman slowly sipped her Butterbeer with sherry, a bit at a time, and by the time she had finished with her drink, the two men had each had two more. She stood up to leave, and Goyle grabbed her arm.

            "Hey where d'you think yer goin'? We don see pretty girls much…" the young man slurred, and Ravyn's eyes hardened from leaf to emerald.

            "I have finished my drink. Now, release my arm." Her tone was imperious, and immediately, the other occupants of the pub realized that she was like most of them after all, a Slytherin. And accosting a strange Slytherin, even if one was a Slytherin him or herself, was never a good idea.

            But Goyle did not seem to realize these things, and merely kept his grip on the young woman Ravyn's arm. He muttered something about getting nosh from a pretty bird, and Ravyn, without skipping a beat or batting an eyelash, had whipped out her wand, and coolly hit him with a Stunning spell.

            And… to hers and everyone else's surprise, hers had not been the only voice to cry out the incantation of '_Stupefy!_' A new voice, this one a smooth male baritone with an aristocratic drawl, had uttered the spell at the same time.

            Goyle fell heavily to the ground, and Crabbe's face took on a look of terror as a tall, silvery-blond young man with sharp features and storm-gray eyes strode forward, and fixed upon him and the fallen Goyle an icy glare.

            Ravyn turned around, and studied the newcomer for a moment. The blond man gave Crabbe a look and an order to get the hell out, and the larger fellow immediately obeyed, taking his buddy with him. And then, the blond man turned to Ravyn, a look of haughty detachment on his face to match hers, and gave her a polite, blank smile and nod.

            "I _do_ apologize for the unpardonable behavior of those two miscreants," he drawled, "That was inexcusable for them to accost you like that… and I hope that you are all right, Miss…"

            "De Borgia," Ravyn replied immediately, proffering the hand that was not holding her wand, "Ravyn De Borgia."

            "Charmed to make your acquaintance," he said smoothly, bringing her hand to his lips and laying a lingering kiss on the knuckles, "I am Draco…"

            "Malfoy. I know who you are," she said with a slight quirk of her eyebrows, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. 

            "Odd… and I didn't know _you_," he murmured, a note of surprise in his voice. She gave a cool little shrug.

            "I don't find it odd at all. You are you… and I am me. You naturally are the type that more people know of… and I am naturally the type who knows of more people."

            "Intriguing statement," Draco looked at her curiously, "If I may enquire, what is it that you are doing here?"

            "Getting a drink," Ravyn replied immediately, "And as I am finished right now, I believe that I shall leave. It was a _pleasure_, Mr. Malfoy." Putting her wand in her pocket and grabbing her handbag, Ravyn moved towards the door, quite aware of Draco's eyes following her, a wary but very interested look in their gray depths. Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a slight nod.

            "Until we meet again, farewell."

*          *          *

            Cassius Warrington was peacefully asleep that afternoon. He was still healing from the nasty sore on his side, and although Fallon no longer needed to constantly clean the sore with healing potion, he still did not waken.

            It had been a week now, and she was starting to worry somewhat. His fever had gone down… he _should_ wake up soon. But during all the hours that she attended to him (which were considerable), he never opened his eyes.

            By means of special potions and charms, exclusive knowledge in a Healer's realm, she was able to keep him nourished, just as if he were conscious and eating and drinking normally. But what she was concerned about… was if he developed bedsores and atrophy from lying in bed for such an extensive period of time.

            His bruises were starting to heal, and though it would still be time before the pain would go away, it was all right to touch him now, and so, to prevent the negative consequences that would arise from lying in one position for so long, she cut away the rest of his robes, all but the bare essentials, and twice a day, turned and cleaned his skin with a washcloth.

            This afternoon was no different. 

            Carefully, she turned him with one hand as the other one wiped down his body with the washcloth. Arms, legs, stomach, chest, back. Shoulders, neck, and face.

            She dipped the washcloth into the warm herbal water again, and wrung it out gently. Crushing a handful of mint sprigs for their oil over the damp white cotton, she wiped his face. Chin, nose, and cheeks. 

            Fallon had just brushed her hand over his forehead, gently moving his hair out of the way so she could wipe his brow, when she looked down, and froze. Brown met brown…

            He was awake.

            Eyes looked into hers, staring… and then, one hand slid up and closed around her wrist, holding it in place where her hand was hovering over his face.

            He smirked.

            She was the first to speak, "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

            His smirk widened, "Hello… and who might you be?" he purred.

            She raised an eyebrow, "You didn't answer my question… how are you feeling?"

            "I would feel much better if you would tell me who you are."

            Fallon rolled her eyes and put on a fake, exaggeratedly perky voice, "I'm Fallon and I will be your Healer today," she chirped. Then, she scowled somewhat at him. "Now, be serious, and tell me how you feel. I can't help you otherwise, you know."

            He merely smirked that infuriating smirk at her, as his dark eyes raked her form from the top of her head, down her torso, to her feet, standing next to his bed, before traveling up again and focusing on the hand that held the washcloth.

            "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, sweet."

            ­_Sweet?_ She frowned somewhat, "What are you talking about? And don't call me 'sweet'."

            His roughened fingertips on her wrist caressed the pulse point under the delicate skin, and he gave her a smarmy grin. "Why, you're far more clothed than I am…"

            She glared now, and snapped shortly at him, "Well just because _you're_ bedridden for a long time and need to be kept from getting bedsores and such doesn't mean that _I_ am. And surely you don't expect me to attend to you wearing nothing but my knickers!"

            He leered at her, "Now ­_there's_ an interesting thought…"

            "Now look here, I'm not some floozy that you pick up in Knockturn Alley!" Fallon hissed, "And don't for one moment think that I'm going to tolerate such impertinence on your part, patient or no."

            He smirked again. Infuriatingly. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

            "Is it any of your _business?_" Fallon was rapidly losing her patience. She was _glad_ that she didn't know him well at all in school. What a _git!_

            "Well, it would be rather unfortunate if I were to shag you, and then get butchered by some other bloke," he said thoughtfully.

            "And what makes you think that I would _ever_ shag _you?!_" Fallon's eyes were blazing dark flames now. He shrugged, and gave her another irritating grin.

            "Well, if I recall correctly, I _was_ wearing full robes… but that doesn't seem to be the case any more."

            "I had to clean your blasted wound! And turn you so you don't get bedsores!" Fallon hissed, the hand that he held clenching into a fist.

            "Nevertheless… can you blame me for getting ideas? Being waited on hand and foot by a beautiful woman, and just about naked…" he trailed off, and then leered at her, "I think I'm going to enjoy it here… can't _wait_ 'til I recover… and with an angel like yourself tending to me, I'm _sure_ that I will be all better very soon."

            His hand was pulling insistently on her wrist, trying to tug her towards him even as she backed away. With a quick flick of her hand, he had released her, and even as she had wrenched her wrist from his grasp, her other hand had drawn her wand, and before he could blink, he had been hit by an Immobilizing spell.

            "Bravo, Fallon," an amused voice called out from the entrance of the tent, and Fallon whirled around.

            "Ravyn!" she greeted her friend with a small smile, and walked over to the entrance of the tent to speak to the other woman, "My favorite Auror… what brings you here?"

            "Just coming by… Kate told me that she told you about a potential spy."

            "Yes…" Fallon nodded, "Any new leads on that?"

            The Auror gave an elegant little shrug, "One. Minor. Went to the pub earlier today… overheard only a little, though. The people talking weren't… very intelligent."

            "Oh?"

            "All we know now is that the spy is male. Gregory Goyle referred to him as 'a bloke'. _But_… I've a feeling that I will be able to get more information in the near future," Ravyn smirked very slightly. "The whole thing wasn't _completely_ a waste of time. I met somebody."

            "Oh, who did you meet?" Fallon asked curiously. Ravyn grinned.

            "Draco Malfoy. _He_ will certainly be acquainted with parties who have access to necessary information."

            "And you think he will give it to you… or introduce you to those parties?" Fallon asked quizzically. Ravyn smirked.

            "Oh, he will… if I have anything to say about it. This should be fun. And…" here Ravyn winked mischievously, "He's quite cute, too."

~*~ End Chapter Three ~*~

Okay! That's chapter three… review!


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES:**

            Happy late Valentine's Day! Hope you enjoyed it, everyone! Of course, predictably, just when there are things to be uploaded, fanfiction.net is being a bitch. Blah… this is rather late. But it's here! See? Be happy!

            Mmm… I'm going to have to make a note on all my fics from now on. Starting with this. _I do NOT take requests!! DO NOT TELL ME TO WRITE A FIC FOR YOU! DO NOT TELL ME TO PUT YOU IN A FIC AND HOOK YOU UP WITH [INSERT MALE HOTTIE OF CHOICE]!! DO NOT TELL ME TO WRITE FICS OF CERTAIN SHIPS OR CHARACTERS BECAUSE YOU FAVOR THEM!! _

            Mrmph… I've been bombarded with people asking me to write fics for them, who say that I supposedly write better than them, so I should write _for_ them. I am not being paid. I do not write for anyone but myself. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? D00ds, if you don't write it yourself, no matter how bad you think you write, no one's going to write it.

**DEDICATION:**

            As always, this couldn't have been possible without my awesome fellow SOBettes backing me up!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Fallon is mine. Warrington is Fallon's. The Slytherin Quidditch Team is Rowling's. The world is illogical.

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            There was one solitary fireplace in the Healer's camp. It was an open fire, almost like a Muggle bonfire, except for the fact that it had rather odd structure of rocks over it. The fire was too small for convenient traveling, and so, anyone who wished to _enter_ the camp had to Apparate, but for purposes of communication, it was very convenient and necessary.

            Now was one of those times. 

            The fire was, of course, not located in any of the tents. Fallon had set up the fireplace carefully, placing a charmed bell over the fireplace that would chime whenever the flames flared to life. This way, no matter where she was, she could hear it if there was a floo message coming through, and find out what it was that she needed to know.

            The bell had jingled as she was in the middle of checking Warrington's wound. After the incident that had culminated in her immobilizing him after he had persistently and insolently made one suggestive comment after another, she had been rather sullen around him, keeping her silence, and certainly very abrupt when she perfunctorily tended to his injuries.

            She had taken to placing a _Nullpinnae_ Charm upon her own ears, quite deliberately and exaggeratedly, every time the comments started. And the charm would prevent any of it from reaching her ears.

            After three days of unrelenting silence and lack of response from her, he had scowled and stopped. And so now, as she dressed his wound, he was quite sulkily silent.

            But the signal bell of the floo network cut that short. Fallon sprang up, and quickly tossed her washcloth back into the basin of healing potion, and darted out of the tent to find out the news.

            Ravyn's face, her eyes the same color as the green flames surrounding her head, was full of worry and frustration when she approached, and Fallon knew then that the news was not good. "Ravyn. What happened?"

            The Auror gave a ragged sigh, and her voice was rather hollow. "Attack. Muggle diner. About twenty cursed… the mild ones we had brought to Muggle hospitals, but the more severe ones… I don't think that Muggle hospitals would know how to treat them… and St. Mungo's is already full…"

            "Shit," Fallon's monosyllabic reply was toneless and grim.

            "I was thinking more along the lines of 'bloody detestable Merlin-forsaken fucking hell', but whatever works," Ravyn sighed, her voice extremely cynical, "I'll have them brought over to you… there's going to be about ten or so… you'd better make some room for them."

            "Right," Fallon groaned, "I'll see what I can do. Smeg…"

            "They won't be there to stay… only just get them to the point that a Muggle hospital can possibly deal with it, then we'll take them off your hands."

            "Yes… yes," Fallon muttered, "Someone needs to do something about these blasted attacks on Muggle establishments… why don't bloody Seers predict _these_ things rather than inane tripe like what type of man some silly bint is going to fall in love with?"

            "I… see… a … tall, dark and handsome… man… in your future, Fallon Anderson," Ravyn mocked in a misty voice, then smirked, "Well, the falling in love is important too… but I agree that something needs to be done about these attacks on Muggle establishments… do they know how bloody inconvenient it is for me to have to explain to a panicking Muggle what the devil happened and what that blasted green light was that nearly hit him or her in the arse?"

*          *          *

            "What a mess."

            "Indeed…" the woman sighed, and turned to her friend. "Xanne, I'm so glad that you're going to do this from now on. We really need a go-between with all these Death Eater attacks… someone who knows magic and lives among the Muggles. Putting up the wards… they should have hired you long ago."

            "Well, what has to be done… has to be done. _This_ should be a load of laughs…"

            "Well, you know how Muggles live, which is better than I can say for a lot of us."

            Xanne shrugged, "I suppose. It would be rather odd to ­_not_ know how they live after spending the first eleven years of my life not knowing any _other_ way of life…"

            Morrigun surveyed the scene with a frown, "What a mess… the Muggles are all going to be on edge now. I foresee lots of memory charms being cast…"

            "You never took Divination," Xanne smirked.

            "Whatever… you know what I meant," Morrigun smirked right back, before rolling her eyes slightly, "I… must go and interview these people. And hopefully be able to glean some information for the Prophet."

            "Well… see what you can get, I guess," Xanne said with a shrug, "At least… at least don't know what we are. _That_ certainly wouldn't sit well with them after all that's happened here."

            "I still say that robes are better than these… very odd trousers," Morrigun picked at a loose thread on the pair of blue jeans she wore. Xanne merely grinned as footsteps approached them.

            "I'm sure you'll change your mind… turn around."

            Morrigun did so, and her green eyes widened. Photographer Alexander Montague, looking quite the thing in Muggle jeans and a blue shirt, walked towards the two women, brandishing his camera.

            "I feel rather out of place," he remarked, looking at Morrigun with a rather rueful expression, "I look a right fool in this, don't I?"

            Morrigun smiled widely and shook her head, "You look smashing… now let's go and interview some Muggles."

            Xanne looked at her friend the journalist in amusement, and shook her head rather wryly, "Told you you would change your mind about the trousers…"

*          *          *

            As Xanne Malloy was establishing herself as a Ward-builder at the boundary between Hogsmeade and the neighboring Muggle establishment were the attack on the diner had taken place, Fallon Anderson was being flooded with patients.

            Frowning at her rapidly-decreasing supply of healing draughts and potions, Fallon sent an owl for the nearest apothecary for mandrake roots, and started to prioritize; the most severe patients had to be treated first, and preferably with as little magical activity as possible.

            Several of the injured she had taken to treating in a Muggle way, except with using potions rather than Muggle compounds, and charming things such as bandages. The ones that she absolutely _had_ to use obvious magic on, she would give them a sleeping draught before doing the spell. 

            Some of them had been hit by things… curses that required constant attention. And so, the three days that she had had to take charge of them, were passed in a blur. Patient after patient after patient, keeping silent and discreet, nights spent brewing up increasing amounts of potions for various ailments and injuries. Unlike previous days, where she had spent most of her time tending to Cassius Warrington, now he was only allotted twenty minutes of her limited and very valuable time a day, and she was often snappish and abrupt when they talked at all.

            Warrington spent most of the time watching her.

            He was getting better. Stronger, healthier… and he knew it. She was a good healer; knowledgeable and efficient and quick-witted. Her sharp mind had saved more than one of the Muggle patients from death.

            Idly, he wondered who it was responsible for the Death Eater attack…

            It could have been him… had… things not panned out the way they did. He was not a Death Eater, but…

            _"Yes, I swear it…"_

_            "Good, my boy…you make me proud…"_

Avery… 

            Demetrius Avery was his father's brother-in-law. After Portia Warrington had died, a year following the death of her husband Horatius, their ten-year-old son Cassius had been left all alone. Horatius' sister Lavinia had taken the helm. Lavinia Warrington had brought up Cassius like her own son, and when she married Demetrius Avery, the latter had been much the father figure for Cassius all through Hogwarts. Demetrius had been kind, in his own way… and Cassius had lived in decent comfort.

            And then, after he'd left school, Cassius had been introduced to the world that Demetrius Avery was a part of… the secret world… where acts of great evil and horror took place without any consideration. But… it wasn't as if Dem wanted him to become a Death Eater. He wouldn't be participating in that…

            Demetrius had only asked that he keep a lookout. That he swear loyalty… so that in the very _very_ unlikely chance that something might happen, he would be on the side of the uncle who brought him up.

            Not too much to ask, really…

            So he had agreed.

            Fallon sunk down into the chair by his bed, her dark hair coming messily out of the functional bun that she'd pinned it up in. Her face was weary, and her eyelids were drooping. She had been awake for two whole days now, and had not eating anything for the past seven hours. But the hands that dipped the washcloth into the healing potion were steady and certain, and she carefully cleansed his wound as always, before once again sponging his body off in herbal water. He was more mobile now, and she did not have to turn him over herself. He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head.

            "Not a word. Not now. Too tired to fight with you."

            Having finished cleaning him, she sat back down in the chair, tossing the washcloth back into the basin. And her beautiful dark eyes were shut almost before she had even sat down. She had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion, and from the looks of it, would not wake up until the morning.

            Giving a light shrug, he closed his own eyes.

*          *          *

            In the middle of the night, he awoke, somewhat chilled. There was the sound of a brisk wind blowing outside, and though all the tents were kept with warming charms, the air was still rather cold. Opening his eyes, he turned and looked around, vision adjusting to the darkness.

            Fallon was still huddled in the chair, fast asleep. Her lithe form was shivering slightly, but she was too deep in sleep to notice.

            He frowned somewhat, pondering something to himself. And then, he smirked, and pulled himself into a sitting position. Reaching over, he put both arms around her, and pulled.

            She was in his bed. Still fast asleep. In his arms.

            He took her hands in his, rubbing and blowing on the fingers until their warmth returned, and carefully unpinned her hair completely. The dark, satiny mass fell almost to her thighs, flowing like water and feathers over his body. She was cold, but after he'd held her close to him for a while, grew warm and pliant, and he lay her down on the bed with him, her head on the same pillow, her slender but muscular form enclosed in the circle of his arms.

            She was completely peaceful when she slept. But then, she was exhausted.

            He smirked slightly as he pulled the covers up over both of them, her head tucked under his chin.

            He could get used to this.

~*~ End Chapter Four ~*~

REVIEW!!


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES:**

            Sorry for not updating in a while. Have been possessed by rpg-ing of a mad sort and moreover, really, _really_ needed a fandom break, for a multitude of reasons that I will not go into right here. But… yes. Here is chapter five.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            As always, disclaimers apply. I am in no humor to come up with a witty disclaimer right now. Who reads these things, anyway?

**DEDICATION:**

            A shout-out to all my SOBettes, who rule, and especially to Kate, who turns 17 in 9 days! Happy birthday, darling!

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            She was warm. She was safe… she loved this… wherever she was. Fallon _felt_ the sunlight hitting her closed eyes, but this was so comfortable, she didn't want to wake up. She had not slept so well for days…

            Wherever she was, it was awfully comfortable… a feeling of being safe, somehow. Her head was leaning against something warm but firm… and her body wrapped in a blanket and strong arms…… _arms?!_

            At this realization, her dark eyes snapped open, wide and shocked. Whoever was holding her must have felt her stiffen, and what felt suspiciously like a kiss brushed lightly upon the top of her head. A familiar, husky voice whispered into her hair.

            "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

            Fallon recoiled as if burnt, her eyes huge, her face going pale and red by turns. Slowly, almost fearfully, she lifted her gaze to his face.

            Damn him.

            Just… _damn_ him!

            He looked almost boyish, a drowsy expression on his face, dark hair sleep-tousled on the pillow, a hint of an impertinent glint in his eyes. Slowly, the corners of his lips quirked up in a slight grin, as he idly fingered a long lock of her hair.

            "What… the devil… am I doing in your bed?" Fallon managed to weakly choke out at last. He smirked at that.

            "Why Fallon, sweet, I'm hurt… you don't remember what happened last night…" he purred, "The passionate, intoxicating love we made… three times in a row…"

            Fallon sprang out of the bed, eyes blazing, "You… you shut up! We did _nothing_ of the sort!"

            He gave an exaggerated, dramatic sigh at that, "Yes… sadly. You're right."

            Fallon muttered choice words under her breath, the only audible ones being 'git', 'incorrigible', 'lecherous', and 'sodding', as she hastily smoothed down her clothing and almost savagely hit her hair with a de-tangling spell before starting to pin it into her usual, functional bun. "I've half a mind to strangle you with my bare hands," she informed Warrington between clenched teeth.

            He chuckled slightly, "Relax… you fell asleep in that chair," he pointed to the chair that still sat by the bedside. "It grew cold in the middle of the night, and I awoke. You were shivering. I pulled you into bed… and it was good for the both of us."

            "I…" Fallon gave a half-shaky, half-exasperated sigh, and whirled out of the tent, her hair still half-done. 

            Cassius Warrington watched her go, an amused expression on his handsome face. He glanced down at the pillow, and his smirk widened. Lazily reaching out a hand, he picked it up… a single, long strand of her hair.

*          *          *

            While Fallon was in a tizzy and a fury at her irritating patient, Ravyn De Borgia was quite coolly having a posh light luncheon with Draco Malfoy in one of the priciest, most exclusive establishments of Hogsmeade.

            Dressed in elegant forest green damask, a delicate, filigreed silver serpent bracelet as her only jewelry, she sat at the table with the air of a queen as the waiter brought over their entrees. Picking up her glass of sparkling pumpkin juice, she toasted her companion. "All the best, Mr. Malfoy."

            Draco clinked his glass to hers, then smirked at her as she took a dainty sip. "Do call me Draco… and thank you for the toast." Taking a swig himself, he dug into his lemon-seared salmon with his fork. "I forget… what is it that you do for a living?"

            "You didn't forget, I never told you," Ravyn smirked. "And I don't do anything 'for a living'… I work… just because. And in answer to your question, I'm an Auror."

            The blond man's eyebrows shot up. "You… an… Auror?"

            "Yes," Ravyn answered unperturbedly, "Is that so hard to believe?" she quirked a somewhat challenging eyebrow at him. He blinked, then gave her a typical Slytherin grin.

            "Well… you must admit… the last Auror I met… was Mad-Eye Moody, in my 4th year," he scowled at the memories associated with _that_ personage. "And _you_ are not anything like _him_."

            "Oh, let me assure you, although I won't bounce you about the hallways as a ferret, I've undergone the same sort of training," Ravyn smirked, before softening her voice to a seductive purr, "But don't let that distress you… I don't scratch or bite… unless you want me to."

            The innuendo was not lost upon the blond man, and he burst out laughing. "You're certainly something else, Ravyn De Borgia."

            "For your sake, I'll take that as a compliment," she replied. He nodded, his eyes guarded but with a look of interest and respect.

            "Please do."

*          *          *

            In the afternoon, a troupe of trained mediwizards arrived at the Healer's camp to take away the Muggle patients.

            Fallon quickly went to greet them, giving the mediwizards a run-down of the patients' conditions, the information that they might have divulged, and other notable information. With the amount of patients that had to be moved out, accounted for, and discussed, the process was a long one… but she didn't mind.

            It gave her a respite from her mutinous head… which was focused on that mortifying and yet… oddly… compelling experience that morning. She didn't know what to think… and she couldn't help but think of it all day! Almost _kind_ one moment… and then completely maddening the next! And… something about the… the _allure_ of it all… caused her to instinctively raise her guard. 

            As Fallon was recounting and chronicling the indications of the various patients, one after another, Cassius Warrington had been left to his own devices.

            Stretching, he pulled himself into a sitting position, then got out of the bed. 

            After a long period of illness, he felt rather queasy at first… but after a few moments, he found that he could walk and move almost as well as before.

            Of course, all due to Fallon's care.

            She was one of _them_. She was friends with a bloody _Auror_. For all he knew… she could turn him in… or, more importantly, she could turn Demetrius Avery in… the uncle that had been almost like a father to him.

            Who was more important… a family member… someone who had given him innumerable things and care… or this slip of a girl… fascinating and lovely though she was… whom he barely knew… who could bring him and his family complete ruin?

            Her water glass, half-filled, sat on a table in the room. Where she would eat a lot of the time. And… on a shelf, close by, there were vials of different potions, neatly arranged in alphabetical order, each with a label.

            His eyes were riveted to one that bore the label of  "Digitalis". 

            A healing agent… for people whose hearts were weak due to injuries or illnesses.

            And a poison to anyone else.

            He was certainly no potions whiz… but he was not completely clueless. 

            Had Demetrius been there, he certainly would have told Cassius to upend that vial into Fallon's glass.

            No danger.

            But… something stayed his hand. Kill Fallon? She… didn't know anything about him, yet. She also… saved his life. He was sure of it. She… 

            He would wait. She saved his life, after all. He couldn't kill her… it would be rather shoddy. And besides… she was the only interesting thing here. And he… well, he was sure that if she were ever to be a danger to him, he would know. He would be able to stop it before it even started.

            He thought.

~*~ End Chapter Five ~*~

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